for juniper

May 26th, 2019 § 0 comments § permalink


there once was a witch
who time-traveled with nothing but
two black cats in her small bag and
many names for every occasion

and they called her sister

her magic was born of blood dirt piss tears
her magic grew from the ground and rained from the sky
her magic wrote songs in the fire that burned themselves
deep into her flesh

sister she said
how does a cat mourn her brother
does she look through the glass and see him
slinking his way back through the garden
how does a cat mourn her brother
does she reach her maw into her food bowl
and take only half
sister how does a cat mourn her brother
or does she live with him still

the witch said brother how does a sister say goodbye
does she dig your grave with her fingernails
does she whisper your name to the setting sun
does she crawl through the night howling
or does she live with you still

brother she said i would claw my heart open to hold you again
to see you bathing sister under the achillea moon
to listen to you sing wild songs
to feel your magic once more

sisters he said you already know the bowels of grief
and you must not starve its hunger
feed it your heart your words your snot your tarot
feed it your song your ink your blood your breath
feed it until it can live alongside you
and wander with you through the forest
as your shadow

sister our paws will touch as i grow with
every rising and falling sun i will live with you
as your shadow in the light

sister in silence you will hear me
in the moonlight you will see me
in darkness you will feel me
as strong and wild as you are

there once was a witch and from her ribs
she conjured two cats as black as love
they called her sister in this life and the next

they say if you look closely into the thick summer dusk
you can see her walking through the garden
three shadows as one



how you are hungry

March 26th, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink

if you find something

small, leave it.


it was meant for someone else.


don’t be so hungry for beauty or meaning

for that kind of hunger

lives by feeding on itself.


you are neither Rasheed nor Mary

who wrote their love in 2011 on

this bathroom wall.


you only ever had a marker or a blank hunger,

never both.


tell someone nearby about universality

and why little boys who’ve never seen guns

pick up sticks and shoot them.


don’t tell yourself these things were meant

for you, these little droppings

to collect in your phone,

skating across the palm of

your hand.


eventually a neighbor will lose their child

to some kind of horrible

and that too will have to have been

meant for you.


the book you’ve been looking for

is marked “free” and sitting in a box of rain,

tasting like the sigh of the storm.


post no bills

untrace what’s been drawn.


leave that all here

sight unseen.